


You can have the town (why don't you take it?)

by bookgazing



Category: Dracula (TV 2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Gen, Misses Clause Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:03:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2797238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookgazing/pseuds/bookgazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucy and Renfield are gonna make it after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You can have the town (why don't you take it?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kajivar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kajivar/gifts).



> My dear it never rains, but it pours. How true the old proverbs are. Here I am, I, who shall be twenty in September, and yet I have never had a proposal until to-day, not a real proposal, and today I had three. Just fancy! THREE proposals in one day! - Dracula by Bram Stoker  
> 

Lucy’s office door closes softly with a snick. Renfield drops a paper bag on top of the documents strewn across her desk. The smell of meatballs floods the office. ‘Remember, we agreed; whatever happens, you have to eat.’

Lucy glances up and waves a wedge of pages, packed with dense type, at her business partner. ‘Three. Three! Can you believe it?’ She meshes her hands in the blonde waves of her hair, drops her head on her desk and moans.

Renfield leans over and scans the papers fanned out around her. ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘And all of them due to run in the same week?’

‘All of them.’ 

‘Well. There it is.’

Lucy lifts her head and nods glumly. ‘Not a sniff of a contract for months, then suddenly *ding dong*, oh hello, it’s the postman! _Three_ event proposals all arrive on the same day! Once, twice, three times a fuckup.’

In the silence, they consider the state of their company bank account. The mournful clink of small change rattling in a large, empty space echoes through their minds. Renfield eyes the sandwich bag from their favourite pricey deli and frowns. 

‘Of course, we’ll have to take them all.’

‘Oh God.’ Lucy tries to envision the work in terms of money — a dragon’s hoard stretching upwards and upwards — but she can’t quite manage it. Still, he’s right. Renfield is almost always right. They can’t afford to turn away clients when their business is so small and new, especially when Renfield and she have so much to lose. And, in truth, her mind has already started spinning; separating out tasks and pulling concepts off the racks. There’s a reason she started this business after all — Lucy does love a challenge.

She frowns, opens the paper bag in front of her and considers the mammoth sandwich inside — notes the two gingerbread lattes in Renfield’s hand. The room starts to come back into focus.

‘What’s that?’ 

‘Oh,’ Renfield takes the folder from beneath his arm. He pulls out a glossy magazine and lays it open on the desk, smoothing the pages. ‘Tatler has a spread about Alistair’s event. I was looking forward to giving you the good news after our dry spell.’ He gives her a light, wry smile. 

Lucy ducks her head and busies herself tearing off a huge hunk of sandwich with her teeth. God, she’s a mess — making Renfield worry about her when his own future is just as tied up with their success. ‘Thanks for looking after me, R,’ she mumbles as she pulls the magazine closer. 

‘Of course.’

The spread is glorious. Alistair’s gothic creations ripple and shine just as they did on the banks of the river Ouse, and the write up is full of cautious praise for both the designer and the day. Lucy’s shoulders unclench slightly as the heavy weight of Alistair’s trust slips from her shoulders. It’s been a long few months.

* * *

Four months earlier in Alistair’s hot and dingy office in the city: 

‘Just imagine, darling,’ she says, putting on her professional poker face and arching her eyebrows. ‘For your first fashion show - a gothic picnic, in Cambridge in July.’ 

Alistair grimaces. Oh well, Lucy thinks, Alistair always did take a little extra energy. 

‘Well, Lucy, it’s… certainly an original proposal. Could you, ah, expand? Just _very_ briefly,’ he hurriedly adds. 

Really, Lucy thinks, pretend manners cost nothing! She watches him fidget and begin to drift away from her control, glancing at his watch and drumming his fingers lightly on the satchel at his side. She particularly loathes the drumming — a constant accompaniment to their past dates and dinners. So, she opens her sketchpad and resolves to make it stop.

Rough drawings swirl around the pages; scenes crash into each other and intertwine. Alistair’s gothic confections appear on models posed in Adams Family holiday tableaus: picnicking under inky velvet parasols; punting in high-necked dark silk; two gothic brides, in clinging velvet and crystal-studded ripped lace, spilling out of a red open top car. 

Lucy winds the richest words she can think of around and around Alistair, like an enchanted rope of gold, until she is sure that he’s caught. Juxtaposition. Contrast. Extravagance. Opulence. Snaring an ex is easier than catching a new client, but she’s clocked his next appointment — a gorgeous young redhead waiting in the hallway — and she needs to make sure of him, so she lays it on thick. 

‘And best of all, darling, the guests would model your work for you. You take everybody’s measurements beforehand and make sure there’s a piece they can wear when they arrive. Take a few photographs of everyone, sell them off at the end and profit. You’ll be the hero of fashionistas everywhere, the champion of everyone who couldn’t actually get in to Fashionweek.’ _Like you._ she slyly adds to herself. ‘You’ll be the people’s designer, but with haute couture style. I can do it on budget _and_ I can do it with flair. What do you say?’

* * *

‘I hope this works,’ Alistair says three months later as the first guests begin to totter over to the cloakroom to be fitted. 

‘Alistair, darling, it already is,’ she says crossing her fingers inside the pockets of her obscenely sequinned green and purple gown. The red head events organiser — Sinead, 21, fabulous kisser and science enthusiast — wanders over and hooks her arm around Lucy’s waist. Even Lucy begins to believe her own words.

* * *

So, R&W Events is a success, for the moment. With a satisfied client, and a solid write up in a magazine that _certain_ people will be sure to see they can trade on Alistair’s event for a while. Lucy opens her mouth to say they should capitalize quickly and start planning the three new events right now. She _loves_ the buzz that comes with planning. But as soon as her lips form the first syllable she wants to lay her head back down on the desk and sleep for a week. Three events in the same month; even Lucy needs a little time to process such a large windfall.

Renfield catches her dejected look, stretches and rises.

‘We’ll start tomorrow,’ he says. ‘Right now, you should call Mina. We’ll both have a little fun, sleep for a day and then we’ll be ready.’

Although exhausted, Lucy pulls out enough sass to call ‘Love to know who your idea of fun is,’ as Renfield leaves, grinning and reaching into his pocket for his phone. Making that crack and dialling Mina’s number takes her last bit of energy.

There’s a rustling sound like bedclothes when Mina picks up and her ‘Hello?’ is blurry and uncertain. They run through their standard call and response for solidarity.

‘Pub?’

‘Pub.’

* * *

In the end, it’s more a bar than a pub; a little place, in a busy part of town, with shiny brass surfaces and smart peach Bellini’s. Neither Mina or Lucy could face fending off men stinking of beer and desperation in the kind of quiet, dingy atmosphere that would match their energy levels. Instead, they brave predatory, shiny haired city workers in search of nostalgic nineties pop hits and decent wine. The wine helps a lot.

Lucy studies Mina while they settle at a table. Her friend’s eyes are shadowed by deep, dark circles, and her curls are sloppily tied up. Lucy tries not to dwell on whether it’s Grayson or work keeping Mina in this mild state of disarray, but unfortunately some unwanted images break through her determination. She slaps on a smile and ploughs on. Friendship autopilot engaged; fake it, ‘til you mean it.

‘So, tell me everything, darling. How’s the job?’

Mina rubs the back of her neck and briefly closes her eyes. ‘It’s an absolute nightmare, but of course when I don’t hate it I love it, so…’ Mina performs a complicated grimace and Lucy shrugs back eloquently. Being a surgeon is Mina’s calling, but that doesn’t mean she has to swoon at its every demand. 

‘I’m sure you’re a marvel, but I wish you good luck for when it’s needed.’ Lucy pauses, takes a fortifying sip of wine and launches in to stormier territory. ‘And how is… everyone?’

Mina tenses and, just for a moment, all the events of last year suddenly sit between them at their small table. Lucy and Jayne grappling under the mistletoe at Mina’s Christmas party. The mortifying episode with Jonathan. And, most significantly, the evening Lucy confessed her love for Mina. The memories of blocked calls and unjust e-mails about friend-zoning crowd around them.

But all it takes is a tired smile from Mina for the sharp memories to clear like fog. It’s a sign of how far they’ve come — 90% best friends, 10% making up still left to do.

‘ _Everyone_?’ says Mina archly ‘Well, it’s interesting, as per usual.’ And she proceeds to give Lucy a juicy, detailed run down of what’s been happening to the people who makes up their world.

Jonathan quit his job at the paper and finally moved out of London — God only knows where. ‘And, frankly, who but God cares?’ Mina says, smirking as she clinks her glass against Lucy’s. ‘Who gives a damn about Jonathan Harker? No one was speaking to him anyway.’

Professor Van Helsing, Mina’s mentor, has also moved on. ‘Some scandal to do with misuse of lab equipment and patient data apparently, but the hospital loves him so they’re keeping it hush hush.’ Mina actually looks more rueful about that than about the fate of her ex-fiancé.

As for Lady Jayne, OBE? ‘Still dominating our surgical department. She’s running this year’s students ragged, and lining up her favourites for “private appraisals”.’ Mina laughs lightly, ‘That woman lives some life.’ 

Lucy isn’t sure she’d find Jayne quite so amusing if she were her boss, but Mina seems to regard Jayne like a favourite aunt with “a past” involving guns, sex and sports cars. 

‘Oh, she wants to see you by the way.’

‘Why the hell does she want to see me?’

Mina waves her half full glass vaguely. ‘Something to do with an event you’re running?’

Oh, God. Lucy can’t bear contemplate the idea that one of the proposals waiting on her desk is wrapped up in Jayne’s spider’s web. 

‘And Grayson?’

Mina blushes. ‘Alexander is just fine, thank you. He says “Hi”,’ she adds shyly. ‘He wanted to come today, but I convinced him it wasn’t quite the right time.’ After Lucy’s antics Mina had fallen into the waiting arms of Lucy’s ex-boss, Alexander Grayson. Tit for tat — boss for boss. But while Lucy’s affair ended with messy manipulation, it appeared that Mina had found love strong and true. Grayson even keeps a toothbrush at her apartment. 

Mina’s looks down and quietly addresses her next words to the table. ‘He misses you, y’know; Renfield too. When Van Helsing left without a word he moped for weeks.’ She lightly traces the grain of the table with her fingertip. ‘He’s lonely, I think. He has me, but what’s life without friends?’ She looks up and flashes a crooked smile. Maybe only 9% more making up required then.

Lucy blinks and looks away. She misses him too, but she also remembers his eyes flashing as he cursed her from across the room. Her shoulders tense. 

‘It’s too soon,’ Mina says quickly. ‘Of course. I’m sorry I brought it up.’ And her voice is laced with regret for everything. 

‘Darling… it’s —,’ Lucy breaks off. ‘One day. I promise.’ And she means it. After all, ‘One day’ can be just as far or as near as she wants it to be. 

‘Let’s talk about something else,’ Mina says ‘How’s the new company going? Any big bookings lined up for the Christmas events season?’

‘Oh, Mina, darling — it’s only September and already there’s so much to do!’ Lucy launches into a lengthy description of her over scheduled predicament, and Mina lets her because that’s what friends are for. 

‘This season has to be a success for us. It just has to,’ Lucy finishes. Her knuckles whiten as her hands tighten around her wine glass. 

* * *

Five reasons Why Lucy Westenra Craves Success:

**1\. Survival**

Lucy’s life is all about pressure. The constant pressure of debts financial and emotional follows her from the moment she wakes. All her savings — gone. Renfield’s lifelong job with Grayson — gone, jettisoned in a flash for a woman he barely knew when they started working together.

‘Keep going Lucy,’ Renfield said when he spotted her sitting in a coffee shop, newly unemployed and teary over a half finished business plan. When he turned up at her flat two days later, quietly confident that she’d accept his offer to become a partner in the company she was designing, she broke out the brandy immediately while he explained. ‘Working for Grayson taught me that the business world needs women like you, men like me,’ he said as she boggled at his story of calmly resigning from Grayson’s employ. ‘He’s injecting new blood into the boardroom, but he can’t do it on his own. And I believe we can create something great by working together.’

It’s so important that they both make it out of this city alive. 

**2\. Alexander Grayson is a person who exists**

The great Alexander Grayson; monster, mentor, and marvellous drinking companion. The man who made her Grayson Industries’ youngest ever project manager. The man who called her ‘Miss Westenra’ as if her name were a military rank of honour. The man whose mouth had filled with venom when he heard she’d slept with Jonathan Harker.

The silence between them can’t continue. Mina should be able to have her friend and boyfriend in the same room together and Renfield shouldn’t have to choose sides. She needs _something_ to happen, something to break the bruised stasis of the last year. And when Grayson sees her business flourish she’s sure _something_ will happen. 

 

**3\. Girls don’t like boys, girls like girls with money**

It’s unlikely that Lucy will discover the hot lady of her dreams among the paperwork in someone else’s office. Being a successful businesswoman, present at major events that she’s choreographed, surely has to improve her chances. 

Yes, it’s been a while.

 **4\. Her mother**

The impossible woman who sent Lucy a note on her first day of work reminding her to ‘Always dress nicely around a single, wealthy man.’ A business isn’t grandchildren and a varied social calendar, but holding her own success in her hands might exorcise the clinging strands of her mother’s disappointment from Lucy’s mind.

 **5\. Corny as it sounds – it’s about making her dreams come true**

This is the small and simple reason that is so easily lost among the others. Lucy wants this, and so there’s nothing else to do but try to make it happen.

* * *

Mina’s phone starts blaring _This Charming Man_ , bringing Lucy back to the present. She can’t resist smirking. ‘What an appropriate ring tone, darling.’ 

‘Thought you’d like it,’ but there’s a hint of tired hurt under the blithe smile. ‘I’d better be going, Alexander’s outside.’ And suddenly Lucy is so exhausted by it all she says ‘Tell him… Tell him “Hi” back.’ Mina’s smile breaks like sunshine. They have to start somewhere. 

As she waves goodbye to her friend, Lucy catches the eye of a tall, dark haired woman at the bar and bites her lip to stifle the yawn that desperately wants to escape. Yawning isn’t sexy. The woman starts to slink over, glossy ponytail swishing behind her, and Lucy feels her heavy cares temporarily recede. She rises, extends her hand “Lucy Westenra. Charmed to meet you I’m sure.”

‘Janina.’

It’s a long night, and Lucy’s aching body protests against the next day’s nine o’clock start, but nothing worthwhile was ever gained easily. 

* * *

Lucy fiddles with her necklace as she waits for Jayne to arrive. Lady Jayne Wetherby: top surgical consultant, decorated for her contributions to medicine, hell in six inch stilettos and half an hour late. Even though Lucy waited in her car watching the clock for fifteen minutes, anticipating Jayne’s need to make an entrance, the lady of the knives still hasn’t appeared. It’s rumoured her assistant rings a special number when guests arrive so Jayne can adjust her timing. For the fifteenth time, Lucy reminds herself never to flirt with the cute girl on the desk again.

Of course when Jayne does arrive, Lucy is desperate for her to leave as quickly as possible.

It’s not the fact that they slept together that makes Lucy uncomfortable. Jayne has slept with half of London. If everyone let that fluster them she’d rule the country before long. No, it’s the inequality of their sitting situation. Jayne’s chair is a gentleman’s club throne — green leather, and oak arms finished with roaring brass lion heads. The solitary chair available to visitors is small and low slung. Lucy shuffles on the hard, grey plastic and tries not to feel like she’s in the headmistress’s office at primary school. 

‘Lucy! How are you?’ Jayne’s voice is best described as a forceful purr; the kind of sound a tiger makes when it’s deciding if you’re food or a toy.

‘Wonderful, darling.’ Lucy raises her shields as they exchange air kisses. ‘Busy of course…’ she allows herself to pointedly glance at her discrete gold watch. 

‘Oh, I hope you didn’t adjust your _busy_ schedule just for me?’ Jayne laughs, deep and rich, and Lucy flushes as she remembers all the ways Jayne could still destroy her. Oh yes, she comes when she’s called. ‘No, I just wanted to have an informal chat because I understand your _little firm_ is choreographing the surgeon’s ball this year. I’m not sure how the board managed to keep _that_ one from me until the contract was awarded, but there we are,’ and this time her laughter is laced with a calculated hint of menace. Lucy vaguely remembers a recently leaked scandal about a board member’s fondness for combining prostitutes and baked goods. She sits up straighter and plasters on a firm smile.

‘We’re working very hard on your event, Lady Jayne,’ Lucy wills her voice steady. It’s the truth, but Jayne has a hard time believing in other people’s competence and commitment. 

‘Good, because I would hate for anything to go wrong; any kind of _slip up_ to embarrass the hospital.’ 

‘There is absolutely no reason to be concerned.’

‘Wonderful. I look forward to recommending your company to everybody in town after the ball goes off smoothly.’ The underlying threat in those last words being that if ball isn’t to Jayne’s satisfaction they will be blacklisted by everyone she controls. 

Lucy finds her fists clenching involuntarily. ‘I look forward to seeing you there, darling,’ she manages as she rises to leave, lips pressed into a rictus smile. She makes it down the corridor before her scowl breaks loose.

* * *

‘It was simply awful, Mina.’ Lucy takes another swig from the bottle they’re sharing on her friend’s settee. ‘She’s so…’ but Jayne is indescribable and it’s easier just to drink.

Mina nods sympathetically, pats her shoulder and swiftly steers the conversation to another topic. 

‘Have you and Renfield finally agreed on what kind of events you’ll be putting together?’

Lucy narrows her eyes, but decides it’s best to follow along rather than risk another row about Jayne.

‘Yes, eventually.’ Although, having so many events to plan forced them to cut their traditional period of amicable arguing in half. Lucy missed those loud, helpful deliberations more than she would have imagined. ‘The Swinburne Club said they wanted something shocking.’ Renfield and she had argued a little about what was _really_ shocking and what was shocking for the Swinburne Club. Eventually they’d compromised which meant Lucy lost a few of her wilder touches and Renfield had to do more of the paperwork.

‘So, what are you giving them?’

‘A Monster’s Ball riff. Living statues in bizarre costumes, swinging cages and plenty of weird local music acts.’ She feels the familiar tingle down her spine as she sees the idea begin to take shape in her mind.

Mina laughs, ‘No meat dresses at least, I hope?’

‘Probably not. Unless someone brings their own, I suppose.’ Lucy quietly wonders if she can nudge one of the regular performers into thinking up that idea. 

‘And for the Coolant Committee?’

Lucy makes a face. ‘They’ve only taken us on to spite Grasyon.’

‘Still, a job is a job.’

Lucy sighs melodramatically, ‘That’s what Renfield said. Well, they’re extremely traditional, so nothing too exciting. A Victorian event, with carol singers and plenty of spiced wine to get people sloshed. Lashings of mistletoe and traditional dances for them to fumble through.’ 

‘What about the ball for our hospital?’

‘We haven’t quite settled on the details for that yet.’ Back at the office, she’s simply written ‘Opulent’ on the whiteboard dedicated to the surgeon’s ball, and drawn an emphatic circle around it. Renfield let her get away with it, but the day for presenting ideas to the board — circled in red on hardcopy of their calendar, three alarms set on the electronic version — is looming.

‘Well, whatever you create will be wonderful, I’m sure,’ Mina says, reaching over to squeeze her in a shoulder hug. ‘And who knows,’ she says slyly, as she plops back down on her half of the settee, ‘maybe, in amongst all the whirling arrangements you’ll find time to meet a nice girl.’

‘A _nice_ girl? Mina, darling, must you always wish such a dull life for me?’

Mina laughs again. ‘Shut up and watch the film,’ she says, flicking popcorn at Lucy as she presses the play button.

* * *

October, and the office is alive — sparking with Lucy and Renfield’s professional energy. It’s full to bursting. Three separate whiteboards line the walls, two featuring detailed events outlines. Three pin boards, covered in complicated idea decoupages, have been hammered in a vertical row onto one wall. They’ve even splashed out for a projector so they can bring up a large version of their electronic calendar and task lists at a moment’s notice. Their lives now revolve around in-trays full of folders and calendars full of neatly broken down deadlines and demands. The answering service picks up all enquiries about future events, and everyday the message box is a little fuller. 

Renfield coughs, ‘The time has come —’ 

‘The walrus said1,’ Lucy grins and sticks her tongue out at him from across the room. A scrunched up ball of paper quickly comes flying towards her.

‘Alright, alright! The surgeon’s ball.’

The both turn and stare at the related whiteboard. Lucy has drawn some stars around the single word she’s come up with and Renfield has contributed an impressive doodle of a spaceship.

‘I do have an idea,’ Lucy twirls her pen ‘but I’m not sure you’ll like it. Trust me?’

‘Always.’

‘Let me phone someone.’ Her hand shakes just a little as she picks up her mobile. ‘Alexander.’ She hears Renfield spluttering into his coffee. ‘Yes, fine, fine. Look, I’ve got a favour to ask…’

* * *

A whirlwind of planning and several long weekend nights at the office later and the Christmas party season has arrived. One event, then two, passes off with reasonable success. The booze delivery for The Coolant Committee party arrives at the last minute, and one of the acts for The Swinburne Club comes down with the flu, but overall everything flies along smoothly. 

The owner of The Swinburne Club waves them off, still humming _Bad Romance_ , as they leave in the early hours of the morning. The Coolant Committee lines up to shake their hands and promises they’ll be involved in a case study in the New Year. Renfield sleeps on the taxi rides home. Lucy doesn’t sleep much at all.

And then, finally, it arrives; the night that could destroy them. Lucy paces back and forth outside the oak doors to Carfax Manor, tugging at her red elbow length evening gloves. The elaborate train on her dress rustles over the cobbles. Alistair has outdone himself with this outfit. 

‘Lucy,’ Renfield stands straight across from her, solid and immovable. ‘Stop. It’ll be alright.’ 

She stands still long enough to glare at him. “How can you possibly know that?”

‘It’s you and it’s me, and we’re simply the best event planners I know.’ 

Coming from anyone else that would be obnoxious, but Renfield says it so naturally she finds it easy to gather her faith and smile back at him. 

‘Here they come.’

The medical board arrive in the ornate horse drawn carriages that Lucy arranged. Most of the other guests are already inside which means the doors will open and reveal happy people lapping up the best party of the season. At least, that’s the plan. Lucy prays that the waiters and security are circulating appropriately. 

Dr Murray steps out first and hands Jayne down from the carriage. Her dress is a sophisticated combination of green velvet and black chiffon, and immediately conjures up the word ‘envy’ in Lucy’s mind. Copies will be all over the shops by the end of the week.

‘Well,’ Jayne croons. ‘Let’s see what you’ve come up with Lucy, dear. Open the doors.’ She claps her hands and, if Lucy didn’t know there were two discreet ladies operating the doors, she’d swear they were opened by the force of Jayne’s command. 

And suddenly there it is in front of them, R&W’s best effort at producing a Christmas ball worthy of Jayne’s approval. Her nerves keep Lucy from focusing on much of the detail, but everything sparkles and shines, and a warm wave of cheerful noise rolls through the gap in the door. One of the board members gasps and Lucy hears a smattering of restrained applause from the others. 

But ‘Hmm,’ is all Jayne says. ‘Hmm.’ She extends her hand to Dr Murray and he escorts her in to be announced. And, just like that, she melts into the glow of the party and Lucy is left at the entrance trying to keep her head from exploding.

‘What is “Hmm” supposed to mean?’ she snarls. 

‘It means she doesn’t hate it, or she wouldn’t have condescended to go inside.’ Renfield’s upper lip curls. ‘She wants to keep you on the hook until the end of the night. Don’t let her.’

Lucy nods, tight and firm, as he comes to stand beside her and squeezes her elbow. She throws her shoulders back and blinks away any suggestion of that her mascara might be in danger. Laughing, she turns and curtseys to him. 

‘Mr Renfield.’

‘Miss Westenra.’ 

She extends her hand to him. ‘Shall we?’

Renfield laughs and looks over her head. ‘I think there are some people who would like a word before we go in.’

Lucy turns to find Alexander and Mina waiting quietly behind her. It takes approximately two seconds before Mina has her arms wrapped around her and the two of them are jumping up and down. ‘You did it. You pulled it off, Lucy. Well done! You two are the success of the season and the talk of London.’

‘Ladies, some decorum please,’ Alexander teases from behind them. 

‘Alexander,’ Lucy disengages from Mina and walks towards him, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. ‘I can’t thank you enough for loaning us your home.’

‘Think of it as the first part of my apology, Miss Westenra. And now for the second part.’ He coughs. ‘I am so deeply and eternally sorry for my behaviour towards you.’ Coming from anyone else that much sentiment would ring false but Grayson’s words are always accompanied by a gentlemanly flourish and Lucy feels the truth of them. ‘And congratulations on your triumph. I hope this night will be the first of many happy occasions we’ll see in together.’

“As do I,” says Lucy. And, despite the stiff formality of the words, she means it. 

‘Would you come in with us, Renfield? There are some things I’d like to discuss with you. And I think Miss Westenra should have a grand entrance all to herself just this once.’

Renfield tips his hat to her, and walks in alongside Grayson and Mina, leaving Lucy alone. She allows herself a faint, private smile and then walks through the doors into the shimmering wonder she has made. 

And, my, aren't there a lot of pretty ladies eyeing her up in that [fabulous dress](http://fy-lucywestenra.tumblr.com/post/64418051015).

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was inspired by _The Devil's Waltz_. To me it seems that Lucy is a highly competent woman who is only allowed to make use of her immense skill in a few socially approved ways. So, when given the chance to organise an engagement party, she goes all out because organising large events is the most responsibility she's allowed and she's desperate to get stuck in to something interesting for once. And that led to me wondering what Lucy would do if she were free to run her own business and move into the corporate world.
> 
> Thinking about Lucy's suppressed talents reminded me how Renfield's role in the world has been limited by societal prejudice (Renfield makes a great assistant, but he would also have made a fantastic lawyer). It seemed so clear that they would be perfectly matched business partners, and so this fic was born. 
> 
> I know this isn't exactly what you asked for but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Happy Yuletide :)
> 
>  
> 
> **Additional Notes**
> 
> Title credit to _Love is All Around_ by Joan Jett  & the Blackhearts.
> 
> 1 Lewis Carrol, "The Walrus and the Carpenter", in _Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There_ (1972)


End file.
